


Black Heart

by januarywren



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Childe/Sire Bond(s), Creepy Petyr Baelish, Dead Joffrey Baratheon, Dom Petyr Baelish, Domestic Bliss, Dubious Morality, England (Country), Enthusiastic Consent, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Implied Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, Light Dom/sub, Mates, Mating Bites, Murder, No Angst, Nobility, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Petyr Baelish, Petyr Baelish is His Own Warning, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Romance, Sansa Stark-centric, Smut, Supernatural Elements, True Mates, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Vaginal Fingering, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, brief mention of animal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:37:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25884442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarywren/pseuds/januarywren
Summary: "Do you have any idea how lovely you are, Sansa?" Petyr asked honeyed sweetness, seeping into his tone.Sansa sighed, leaning her head back against his shoulder.Her cheeks were flushed, and her lower lip trembled, as it often did after feeding. Their eyes were as black as their unbeating hearts, the burn in their throats soothed by the blood that streaked across their skin. One of Petyr's fondest memories was the first time he'd taken his love, after he led a drunken guard to their court rooms.Sansa had lost herself in her kill; unable to ignore the bleeding, and stuttering guard. She'd begged for his attention after, mewling with pleasure as tears glistened on her cheeks. It was the first time that she'd lost her control, and let her instincts guide her; something that Petyr well understood.They were untamed beasts, ones that had deviancy in their very veins.Vampire AU | Petyr is willing to give his Childe, his Mate, anything that she desires. Or anyone...
Relationships: Petyr Baelish & Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 57





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zana Todd (captainofthegreenpeas)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainofthegreenpeas/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this tumblr prompt from captainofthegreenpeas: "...for the prompt request post, I was thinking maybe Petyr/Sansa and they've committed a murder together that was...messier than they expected, maybe something went horribly wrong. They find solace from the shock with each other and reassure themselves. The fic can be as gory or as sexual as you feel comfy with!..."
> 
> When I read their prompt, I opened Word and started writing right away (!!) This spiraled into an explicit fic fairly quickly, and the dynamic between Petyr and Sansa is fitting for a !creepyship. Please read the tags, there's vampires being well...vampires, and the content might not be for everyone. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading my work, and for supporting it! I thoroughly enjoyed writing this fic and hope that you do too. 💞

Petyr adored his mate in crimson, almost as much as when she was swathed in precious silks, and delicate lace. “What a vision you make,” he murmured in her ear.

They watched as he drew his crimson-stained fingers across her fair skin before he cupped her breasts in his hands. Her chemise was thin enough for Petyr to see the pink of her nipples, and he felt as they hardened against his palms, under his attention. "Do you have any idea how lovely you are, Sansa?" Petyr asked honeyed sweetness, seeping into his tone. 

Sansa sighed, leaning her head back against his shoulder.

Her cheeks were flushed, and her lower lip trembled, as it often did after feeding. Their eyes were as black as their unbeating hearts, the burn in their throats soothed by the blood that streaked across their skin. One of Petyr's fondest memories was the first time he'd taken his love, after he led a drunken guard to their court rooms. Sansa had lost herself in her kill; unable to ignore the bleeding, and stuttering guard. She'd begged for his attention after, mewling with pleasure as tears glistened on her cheeks. It was the first time that she'd lost her control, and let her instincts guide her; something that Petyr well understood. 

They were wild beasts, ones that had deviancy in their veins. 

He knew the tangled web of emotions inside her; the pleasure that entwined with contentment, one that was little troubled by morals. It was only later, when he washed the blood away from her hands and her neck and dipped the cloth between her legs, that she would falter.

She had little concept of immortality yet, his Childe an innocent in countless ways still. Petyr nuzzled her scalp, her fire-kissed tresses as soft as fine linen against his skin. He thought he would never have a Childe of his own, nor one that he’d lost himself to like Sansa.

It'd taken only one look at her during a feeding trip to the docks, and Petyr had felt the call to claim her as his own. It was stronger than anything he'd ever felt before, possessiveness roaring to life inside his chest. He stole her away from the world and had made her his own, without thought or regret.

“Cersei would have my head, if she saw me like this,” Sansa hummed, arching her back against his chest. "She may anyway, if she finds what's become of her horrid son." He smirked, knowing exactly where she wanted his wandering hands to go. 

"My greedy girl," he whispered, his hands sliding down her chest and her flat stomach, toward the V of her hips. The smell of her arousal was thick in the air; a heady, musky scent that he longed to wrap himself in. "She won't look here - I won't let her hang us both, and leave us for the crows."

It would make a hideous sight, one that Petyr had no intention to allow to occur. 

"Robert will be grateful for the loss of his bastard," Petyr continued, his lips curling into a knowing smile. Cersei had laid with one of his own male prostitutes, one that was the spitting image of the Golden Lion that she adored. Her lumbering and lecherous husband was far from the king that she'd always dreamed of - the king that her brother, Jamie, should have been, in and out of her bed. 

"I certainly am," Sansa said, her tongue darting out to trace her bottom lip. It had been too easy to lure Joffrey to their rooms; after she'd preened beneath his attention, as if he'd never insulted her when she first came to court. His cruelty was something she would never forget, as he ordered the spaniel that Petyr secured her and she adored to be taken to the kitchens, and skinned alive. No, Sansa would never forget what he'd done, and had delighted at the games they played with him. 

He cried horrid, burning tears before Petyr drove a stake through his heart. 

( _The sight made Sansa laugh, madly, desperately, and as wholly as she never had before._ ) 

There was nothing that vampires adored more than pretending to be elegant, divine creatures, cloaking their feral natures with gorgeous attires, and unyielding ceremony. The ones who believed the lie the most were their royal family, its members providing an endless source of amusement for Petyr.

"Let us enjoy ourselves now," Petyr said lightly, knowing his Childe would soon fall down from her high. She would tamble and fall, and he would be there to catch her; as no one had ever caught him. There was a wildness in her that he wanted to coax to follow his will, as if he could make her alive with his words, and his touch.

( _He could, he knew that he could, and he would_.)

He drew his hand against her slit, feeling as her slick dripped on to his fingertips. “Don’t tease,” Sansa said, rocking her hips against his hand. “Not tonight, Sire.”

And who was he to resist her?

He was but a man, after all, as Robert Baratheon often remarked.

He began to pleasure his Childe, his sweetling the only one that he had ever turned. Her sweet cries were music to his ears as he slipped his fingers between her folds, seeking the place that made her gasp. He set a harsh pace when he found it, curling his fingers inside her, with his fingernails skimming against her folds. She jerked at the feeling and he nipped at her ear, catching her earlobe between his canines. “Be a good girl for me, love,” Petyr said.

There was pleasure and pain in everything they did, both adoring the games that they played. Petyr knew what he was; a simpering boy, a weak man that had forged himself anew when he burned. He had no soul, no –

He only had his wits and his games, and the one that he coveted without end.

He groaned as he felt her come again his fingers, her cunt holding fast to his fingers. He often loved to have her in his lap, without anything between them. Sansa felt the same, for she squirmed in his lap until she turned to face him, and she ripped her chemise free. They would have all of each other or nothing, taking each other without half measures.

“I want you,” she said, her warm gaze holding his.

Her hands fumbled with the buttons that fastened his trousers and mewled when his cock sprang free. "Do you want me too?" Sansa teased, feeling his erection press against her midsection. She was hungry for him and his touch, a hunger that she often thought she would die of if he denied her.

“Always,” he purred.

“Always,” Sansa agreed, and he knew there was a part of her that was a little lost girl still, one that longed for approval that would never come. Not from her family, as Sansa had lost them when she was only a child, to the festering disease that swept through every port, and back alley in London. She was left without family nor friends, a ward to none, and without a home. It was a dangerous world for a girl to grow up in, and it was dangerous still for a young woman. She was two decades younger than him physically, yet a child in truth, in consideration of his true age. 

It was different with Petyr, as their name, their face, their home would always stay the same. He was the only one that wouldn’t leave her – he couldn't leave her. They were bound through him changing her and taking her as his mate, with his mark on her neck and her love burned upon his soul. 

They both moaned as he slipped inside her, his cock throbbing inside her blessed heat. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, seeking the intimacy that she craved. “My precious girl,” Petyr cooed, nuzzling his face against her neck. He soon teased the mark that branded her as his Childe, his mate.

He allowed her to take her own pleasure, as she canted her hips against his. There was nothing in the world that he longed for more than for her to trust him, needing and wanting him the same as he felt for her. She was never more wild nor free than when she rode him, soon throwing back her head and crying out with ecstasy.

“More, Petyr,” Sansa panted, “Oh! Please – “

And he gave all of himself to her, as he covered her lips with his.

Their tongues tangled together, a reckless frenzy finding them as they delighted in one another. Sansa mewled into his mouth as he spurted his release inside her; neither having reason to fear a babe resulting from it. Petyr knew that his lover dreamed at times of motherhood, something that would never be a reality for one of their kind.

He knew too, that there would come a time when she begged him to change a child for her, perhaps one with her kind eyes, or the dark curls that her brother Robb once had. Or perhaps one that had his own coloring, and her sweet nature, as if it were a child truly born from them. And he would change a mortal child for her, making a Childe for them both, as Sansa would never stand to taste their child's blood on her tongue. Petyr wasn't ready to share her yet, no –

He wanted her and her alone.

Sansa cried out his name as she came, slick gushing from her. It soaked his weeping cock, the familiar warm, stickiness a feeling that he loved as he knew that her pleasure was sated. He gathered her close, ignoring the rivets of come that stained the velvet chaise; careless of everything but her.

“You want the world, don’t you?” Petyr mused, his gaze shifting to the deceased man that sprawled across the antique rug. He felt the taste of his rich blood on his tongue still and felt no sorrow for it. He’d wanted his Childe, his mate, and Petyr would never allow it. Nor did Sansa wish to be shared. “The blood of a prince and your Sire’s – “

Sansa’s lips curved into a mischievous smirk.

“His cock?” she finished, and Petyr’s chuckle made her heart flutter. “I think my Sire desires his Childe’s body just as much.”

Sansa rested her temple against his, as sated as a cat with a tummy full of cream. Her Sire often indulged her, and she knew that she had him wrapped around her finger; the same as he had her around his. “And their Childe’s heart,” she added, her voice soft, and sweet.

Petyr closed his eyes, luxuriating in the feel of her small frame. She was the same as his signet, a mockingbird, with her innocent eyes and pink lips, that often spread the prettiest of lies.

She'd learned from the best, as he taught her how to distract with gentle words and cultivated her natural innocence to draw their kind in. He knew that she would never leave him if she felt safe, she would never dream of it.

And he wanted her to stay, more than he could admit to.

She was made to be at his side, beneath him, above him – he wanted her in his bed and in his arms, without end. She was the home that he’d never known, one that he never longed to leave behind.

A rare thing indeed for one of their kind.

They were little known for their loyalty nor their monogamy, vampires indulging in lust as they wished. Yet Petyr never thought of another, he never entertained the thought of another, mortal or immortal. They were loyal only to each other and had no other besides, or between them.

They were together.

“I want all of you,” Petyr agreed, need stark in his voice. “More than I’ve wanted anyone or anything before, Sansa.”

Sansa burrowed herself against him, hiding her face against his shoulder. She wouldn’t confess, not then, but she was wholly and utterly his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me: https://januarywren.journoportfolio.com/ 🌹
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Day 6 of Inventober (created by @girlandgeese on Tumblr): Money
> 
> Petyr + Sansa enjoying eternity with decadence and greed? Yes, please - or any AU where Sansa is happy. Little bit of theonsa towards the end if you squint, though nothing graphic, *yet*. I hope you enjoy this chapter, thank you for reading! 
> 
> Also, I recently created a portfolio where I'll tag my original work that's been published, and the contests my work has placed in. I'll update it as my original work is released, and I'm excited to share it with everyone! I'll include a link in my socials to it from now on. 💜🤍

Sansa hummed as she felt her lover caress her naked backside. He peppered kisses over her back, his tongue darting out to trace her scars.

Shame was something she no longer remembered feeling around Petyr, not when it came to her nakedness. He worshiped her delicate frame, with his fingers and his lips, his tongue and his cock, every part of him one that she adored.

She never knew what intimacy was before he’d whisked her away, and she rarely thought of life before him. (Not that she voiced _that_ particular fact aloud – her mate’s ego was already large enough…)

“Mhm, Petyr – “Sansa hummed, looking back over her shoulder at him.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Petyr replied, a knowing smile on his lips. He kissed her temple and her pretty cheeks, before settling his lips against hers. She was everything he wasn’t sweet and as fresh as the garden he’d established for her. It was filled with the most exotic of plants, ones that only bloomed beneath the moonlight.

He wanted to give her everything, and the wonderful truth was that he did.

Everything she wanted and everything she deserved; Petyr gave her without care of his coffers. He had more than the Lannisters could ever imagine, his stocks and his trade established throughout the centuries. Petyr had more than the Iron Bank could ever loan, and everything he had belonged to him alone.

And Sansa –

Petyr shared everything with her. She was his partner, his Childe, and his mate, and he wanted no distance between them. “Come here,” Petyr said, as he settled back against the mountain of pillows that his mate adored. He wrapped his arms around her waist as she settled in his hold, her chest pressed against his.

He wore silk pants, and he knew that she could feel his hardness against her bum, a state that he often found himself in around her. “Did you sleep well?”

She fluttered her eyelashes as she looked up at him. “I did, though I enjoyed waking up more,” Sansa teased, as she drew circles against his bare chest. She could be as playful as a little girl, the same as she could be as cold as the arctic wind.

"Theon's name day is soon," Sansa said then, her brow knitting.

Only a year before, she found the Childe that she desired, and Petyr had turned the young man for her. She was as caring and thoughtful as any mother, though Petyr knew there was far more to it. Sansa kept Theon as one would a pet, luring him near as he ached for her touch and attention. And in turn, Theon had taken to his mate soon after awakening and had rooms that were beside their own.

Truth be told, Petyr was amused at the bond between the two. He was glad that Sansa had a Childe of her own, as fun as it was to have her ‘convince’ him that she deserved one. It was his venom that flowed through Theon’s veins, as he was his Sire – Sansa had never tasted mortal blood, an ideal she never wanted to abandon.

Petyr had little qualms with it and willingly expanded their _family_. The word was sweet on his tongue, and Petyr wanted to laugh until he was sick, though he knew Sansa wouldn’t understand. There were some things she never would, his sweet dove, his little mate, even as centuries passed without either of them changing.

“Do you have any gifts in mind for him?” Petyr asked, resting his cheek against her temple. It was little surprise that Sansa continually enraged Cersei with her presence, as sweet and delightful as she was. The Lannister Queen was coveted by many, her beauty widely admired and loose reputation appealing to many.

Yet as the decades passed, Cersei’s other qualities emerged her ugly temper, unyielding selfishness, and her faltering talent for manipulation. There were few who regretted Cersei losing her crown, replaced instead with a young woman that Robert took as his own. Fewer still missed Cersei’s foul son, Joffrey. “Shall we find him a mate, perhaps? We could find a sweet male at court, a Ganymede – “

Sansa shook her head, and Petyr hid his smile.

“A girl then? A Persephone?”

Sansa huffed in reply, and he knew that she was annoyed. She was as possessive as their species always was; a possessiveness that Petyr felt toward his mate alone. He would cross every line when it came to her, and limits meant nothing to him. There were no morals that he claimed nor gods that he took as his own, for he had lost all semblance of humanity long ago.

He made his own fate and had risen to power through his efforts alone. He had no mentor nor sire that he was indebted to, and he was pleased to keep things that way. There was no one that he would share Sansa with, nor did he have guests' parade throughout their chambers, as it was their space alone. They both cherished their privacy, where they made love with abandon and acted as they wished.

She was his and he was hers – it was the only truth that he believed in, the only truth that he wouldn’t color with his lies.

“He’s only spent a year with us,” Sansa replied, her tone cool. She didn’t want to think of Theon with another, the same as she would never think of Petyr with anyone besides her. “It hasn’t been long at all…”

“We’ll keep him close then,” Petyr chuckled, “as close as you like, my love.”

Sansa hummed in agreement and moved to nestle against him. She could be very, very sweet; sweeter than anyone knew, and Petyr couldn’t help but falter at her warmth. She was more than he had ever imagined she would be. The moment he saw her he wanted her, craved her even, yet she had become poison beneath his skin.

She was a part of him, something that he never _assumed_ she would be.

It wasn't an impossibility, no, Petyr never dealt in absolutes. Any one could be an ally, any one could be a foe - more than not, they were both. No one could for things were ever-changing and evolving, and only fools could believe that things stayed the same.

When he stayed at Sansa’s side, listening to her sharp cries and low panting, he thought that she would be another of his indulgences, another of his pleasures. He took everything that life could give, never apologizing for his wealth nor his power. There was always someone that would have more than him, just as there would always be someone who had less.

He had nothing to apologize for and reveled in the peace he found between her legs.

Oh, Petyr saw how lust alone dismantled history, and how weak men were when it came to a warm cunt they desired. His power was built upon lust itself, as his network of knowledge was established with every brothel he created. He knew lust and he knew men and never thought himself as their equal – he was more than they could ever dream to be, yet he found he was wrong –

Something that he rarely was.

“A chateau in the fair countryside? A tamed lynx perhaps, that will take food from his hand, or a raven that will be his friend?” Petyr offered. They were indulgences that meant little to him, though he knew they meant much to Sansa. She cheered at celebrating their Name Days, as well as all sorts of mortal holidays – it was a trait that he couldn’t break her of and decided to go along with instead. It amused him as a kitten playing with a ball of yarn amused others, and he found that it harmed no one to indulge her ideas. “What in the world shall we give our Childe?”

Sansa drummed her fingers against his chest, and he purred at the feel of them. He often painted her nails for her and filed them by hand; until she was soft and pliant in his arms.

(‘ _I can care for you, as no one else can_ …’)

She remembered every word that went unsaid between them, the same as she recalled every word that Petyr had whispered. He was with her as no one else had ever been, and she never wanted to leave her place at his side.

It was the same feeling that she wanted Theon to have, only with her in place of Petyr. She felt warm at the thought, the same as when she felt Theon’s gaze upon her…

“A piece of you,” Sansa decided, “a piece of me. That’s what I want to give Theon.”

Petyr was quiet for a moment, before running his knuckles down her soft cheek. “A night with us?” he questioned, and Sansa nodded.

“I want him to know he’s ours,” she murmured, “in a way that he’ll never belong to anyone us.”

He wanted to laugh at his sweet, possessive girl; only he understood how she felt, all too well. “Would you rather have him all to yourself, sweetheart?”

He knew that he would never desire to share her –

“Yes,” she whispered.

Only he would indulge her with his if she wished for a moment, a night.

_One_ decadent night. 

“I’ll allow him to have you for a night,” Petyr said, brushing his lips against her temple. For, how could he say no? He wasn’t blind to the desire between the two, though he knew Sansa was more possessive than the boy could dream of. He would learn the truth of their kind, in time. “If I can watch, my love.”

Sansa looked up at him, a smile on her lips.

“I wouldn’t wish for it any other way.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me: https://januarywren.journoportfolio.com/ 🌹
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


End file.
